Something Approaching Perfect
by Lammington
Summary: A modernisation of Jane Austen's Emma. Emma's beautiful, intelligent, and owns her own apartment, but in matters of the heart, it's anyone's game. Chicken thieves beware, the chickens are striking back.
1. Chapter 1

Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, owner of her own two-bedroom apartment, appeared to want for nothing, having reached the age of twenty-one with little besides the occasional blinding hangover to distress or vex her. Vexed, however, she was as she lay in the centre of her queen sized bed, nursing the mother of all headaches, and conscious only due to the sheer unpleasantness of existence and its twisted sense of humour.

Snippets of the night before swung at her like well-aimed blows, and wincing, she saw herself alternately sobbing and laughing in the arms of her best friend, Taylor, as her engagement party really kicked off. The evening had started as all such events must- with happy smiles from the couple, and awkward eyeing of shoes from everyone else, but as the free bar had come to ease the social anxieties of the collected loved ones, all sense of etiquette had rather gone the way of the dodo. Taylor and her fiancé, James Weston, had felt no need to curb the spirits around them- it seemed rather the cruel thing to do as James' friends had attempted to discover a new method of tiddlywinks that involved beercaps and coins. That game and the seeming hilarity of a joke about a duck were Emma's last clear memories. The rest came in great waves of nausea and seemed all to include the words 'settling down, commitment,' and, strangely, 'aluminium.' Emma did not care to look into whatever Freudian meaning there might have been behind that one.

She felt almost as if she should be in mourning. The last of Taylor's boxes had left the apartment the pair had shared since the age of 18, and her dearest friend was really, truly growing up. Growing up and leaving her. With a noise that was a close relative of both, but distinctly resembling neither, a sob and a retch, Emma burrowed herself into a ball in the very middle of the bed, snuggling herself under the duvet and resolving never again to come out. It was then that she heard the knock on the door.

"Sod off!" came the slightly muffled greeting of the beleagoured lump beneath the pastel patchwork duvet cover. Surely there was a rule of etiquette about waking the dead or near-comatose. When the knocking ceased, and was followed by the unmistakeable sounds of fumbling about beneath over-the-door ornamentation, mumbled cursing, and a lock clicking, said lump seemed to twist about to face in the opposite of whatever direction it had once faced, and brace itself.

After a few moments of delicious silence, the door of the bedroom was flung wide, and a distinctly un-lumpy figure strode into the room. Tall, well-built and irritatingly clear-headed, Geoff Knightley managed to fill up a good portion of the small amount of bedroom not filled with bed, chest of drawers or assorted knick-knacks. He had been a friend of Emma's family for as long as she could remember- their respective siblings had fallen in love and raised a brood of three children, two cats, and seven psychotic chickens since their wedding four years previously. If a childhood spent teasing each other had not made Geoff and Emma close, two minutes of sheltering atop a cupboard from a chicken with murder in its eyes had forged a bond that only arctic explorers who had been trapped in the same tent could rival. However, that bond was rather tested when he managed to reach a volume Emma could only label as 'belly-wobbling' and demand that she shift herself out of bed.

"Shan't!" she replied, making sure to latch onto the duvet that was presently her only protection from a world of _noises _and _smells_. She was right to do so, in the next moment she felt the great rush of cold air as Geoff tugged at it.  
"Shall!"  
"Shan't!"  
"Shall!"  
"Shan't, or your office sees the photos of _the treehouse incident._"

This resulted in a pause from her tormentor- she had hidden the pictures of a childhood game of dress-up gone all Dame Edna from him and held them as a last resort for many years. Those photos were a blessing, and had saved her from being the one to tell Belle, her sister, about how the eighth chicken had wound up in the back of a car going anywhere else. What she had not expected was to find a new, larger and fresher lump to meet her in her cocoon.

"So, who cried most, then?" the rather clumsily folded new member of the hangover haven asked, fixing her with a smug grin.

---

With her dark hair forming a knotted halo about her head, and her hazel eyes bloodshot and ringed by a mixture of purple bags and last night's mascara, Emma was hardly a sight for sore eyes, and Geoff was kind enough to point this out as he delivered her second cup of coffee to her little nest of blankets and cushions on the couch. She settled into the chaotic arrangement and breathed in the warm scent of the abrosial brew.  
"Don't you look at me like that! I need no pity! You forget, I set them up."

At his ease on the other side of the couch, Geoff looked up from his inspection of a cushion that had apparently been fashioned in the vague anatomy of a pig and quirked an eyebrow. "Set them up? I seem to remember James asking Taylor out after staring at her across a crowded lecture hall for two semesters."  
"She wouldn't have taken that class if I hadn't told her to," Emma fired back, spearing her tormentor with a glare, and making a valiant grab for her piggie-pillow.

"I hardly think bullying your best friend into taking a class you avoided ninety percent of the time and made her take notes for is deserving of bragging, Em."

"I never brag. But I will happily take credit where credit is due."  
Geoff rolled his eyes at the mess perched like royalty in her scruffy little nest, grinned, and launched himself back into the kitchen for more coffee.

As she listened to the sound of more glorious coffee being made, Emma cast her eyes about the living room of her home. It looked so empty, so forlorn. She had all the basics, and of course the necessities such as exercise equipment that had become so used to disuse that any real exercise would probably cause more pain in the mechanical brains of the things than in the muscles of the user, but it had always been Taylor that thought of things like potplants, or tidying. Without her, the apartment had the vague feeling of a hospital staffed only by doctors. Without the nurses, sure the work got done, but it was all hard edges and bad handwriting. She needed a project. She needed distraction.

"What do you think of Elton?"

She watched Geoff blink at the sudden question, then suspicion dawn in his eyes.

"Why?"

"I think he's been single for too long. He could do with a nice girl."  
Groaning, he placed the steaming cups on the coffee table, just out of Emma's easy reach, and grimaced at her.  
"No, Em. Don't try it, he's not the type to fall into line with your schemes."  
Reluctant to leave her comfortable position, Emma flailed her hand pathetically, hoping to give Geoff the hint and be allowed to remain at her ease.  
"I'm not scheming, just... helping."  
"Well maybe some people don't need your help. Now stop waving at your coffee, it's getting cold."


	2. Chapter 2

The search for a new housemate drew Emma's attention ever more as the days slowly ground themselves away over the next week. She had not chosen her apartment with solitary life in mind. It was a charming little flat, located at a short distance from Highbury town centre, conveniently near shopping and the local pub, as well as located amongst her nearest and dearest. She had settled amongst the friends she had always had near her growing up- Geoff Knightley owned an apartment on the floor above, and a friend of her father, Lucy Bates, lived below. Dear as these familiar faces must be, one was simply too male to serve as the companion with whom sobbing, ice cream and horrendously sappy DVDs were a regular occurrence, and the other was simply not suitable for spending long periods of time with. Emma was in dire need of a flatmate, if only to keep her from eating a full container of ice cream by herself. Exhausting the usual methods early- the internet was too impersonal, one never knew who might turn up; the local paper seemed to feel it incumbent upon them to not only charge out the nose, but to mishear, misspell and misconstrue every possible listing; all her friends were already spoken for, as far as accomodation, Emma was soon forced to turn to plan F- flyers on the noticeboards at school.

It was not something Emma had ever wished to resort to. She had seen the people who looked at flyers on the communal noticeboards. She had smelled the people who looked at them. She could not stand to think of them trudging about her lovely home, leaving leaflets and protest march flyers in their wake. It was a fate worse than death! She was pleasantly surprised, then, by the sight that met her as she approached the dreaded wall of sales pitches. Short, blonde and a little chubby, Harriet Smith was a girl not much noticed, but Emma had managed to do so once during a lecture on soviet power structures- what else could one do during such a time but take notice of the people around you? The girl was no beauty, but she was pretty, she had a certain sweetness that charmed someone once they got around to noticing her. Much to Emma's pleasure, Harriet was hunting through the 'flatmate wanted' signs, tearing off numbers here and there. Now here was an opportunity just waiting. A flatmate, and a match-making dream!

"Harriet!" Emma called out, grinning amiably as the girl turned to wave a little clumsily.

"Oh. Um. Hi?"

"I'm Emma, Emma Woodhouse. We had history together a while back, remember?" grinning upon her protege-to-be all the while, Emma steered her gently away from the boards.  
"If you're looking for a flat, I have the perfect place. Close by, and close to the shops! Come by tonight, have a look around, you'll love it!"

She scribbled the address onto the rather confused Harriet's hand, then turned to leave without a backwards look. It never even ocurred to her that the girl might not show up. Why would someone miss an opportunity?

---

Elton was a law student and acquaintance of Emma and her friends. He was of about average height, average weight, and average looks. He was entertaining to know, and had always been pleasant and friendly to Emma. She had decided he was a nice enough boy, and sorely needing a nice girl, and in Harriet Smith, Emma suspected she had found him a perfect match. Yes, Elton was perhaps a bit more intelligent, but Harriet needed someone who could take care of her, guide her a bit. It was perfect in every way, and as she waited for Harriet to arrive and accept her offer of the room, Emma sat happily contemplating the pairing. She was not especially pleased when not Harriet, but Geoff strolled into the flat without knocking, took a beer from the fridge, and flopped into a chair across from her spot on the couch.  
"Honey, I'm home!"  
She scowled a response, and threw piggie-pillow at the irritating bloody man.

"Now now, is that any way to greet me? Your oldest and dearest friend? Your darling Geoffie?" he was suspiciously chipper, and this was making Emma uneasy. The last time he had referred to himself as Geoffie he had been in the midst of talking her into dressing up as a fairy for their respective niece's birthday party. A fairy who had spent the rest of the day tinted slightly blue and smelling of icing.

"What are you up to, and how can I get out of it?"  
He grinned. "I have news. Good news."

She raised an eyebrow at this.  
"One down, six to go," he crowed at last, and it took her a moment to place the reference. One of the little psychopaths had gone to that great eggshell in the sky, and could no more ravage her shoes, lower legs, and nerves! With a squeal quite unbecoming in a lady, Emma launched herself forward into a hug, and was in the midst of jumping up and down in Geoff's arms when they heard the discreet cough from the doorway.

Perhaps anyone else, on walking into a scene involving two maniacs giggling and clinging to one another, would have walked out, and immediately called for the men in white coats. Harriet, however, summoned up every bit of resolve in her soul and did what any good Englishman (or in this case, woman) would, and approached the problem with a vague plea for polite awkwardness to descend- the half-cough, a timid noise known to all to mean 'I would like for this situation to become tense and weird now, thank you.' It had the desired effect, as Emma and Geoff realised their position, and retreated to a distance imposed by standing at opposing ends of the couch.

"Right, I'll leave you to it then, shall I?"

Answered by polite nods, Geoff shuffled his way out, pausing to introduce himself to Harriet and grin, half-embarrassed, half-laughing, at Emma over her head.

Shooting whom she liked to think of as her punishment for former misdeeds a parting glare, Emma turned, attempting a winning smile and managing a charismatic wince, to Harriet, who had not yet moved.

"So... how d'you like the place?"

She did, of course, move in the next day.


	3. Chapter 3

Turning her attention from the concoction in her hand to the world beyond the kitchen, Emma frowned. Her little welcoming party for Harriet was inspired- but was lacking a rather crucial ingredient. Elton, damn him, was yet to arrive, and it rather put a cramp in Emma's finely honed plans. Sighing, Emma narrowed her eyes and made her way into the lounge, making sure to grin at the various guests there assembled.  
"Try this," she pushed the glass at Geoff, daring him to refuse the pink liquid in favour of his own beer. While he looked suspicious, he did as bid.  
"Jesus, Em, it's like paint thinner!" he gagged rather thoroughly, then pulled deeply from the bottle in his hand, almost flinging Emma's glass back into her hand.  
"Perfect, just the way I like it!" with that, and a backwards grin, Emma fled the ire of her old friend, instead flopping herself onto the couch, empty save for a blonde, blushing new flatmate.

"The accepted method for these things is to mingle, you know."  
Emma waggled a finger at the flustered creature before her, before snaking one arm around Harriet's shoulder and pulling her in for a half-hug. The poor girl looked ready to expire from fear. Really, Emma's heart went out to her. Poor Harriet, how much she needed her. Emma had already had a hand in her hair, makeup and outfit for the evening, and it was becoming painfully obvious that she would have to inject a healthy dose of confidence into her new friend. It would be a project indeed, but rewarding to be sure.  
"Let's get you a drink, hon."

An hour later, a rather delicious haze had settled on the evening. Both Emma and Harriet were a little pink of cheek, talking to a boy from one of Emma's classes. Which, she was unsure. Of his name, she was unsure. She had been determinedly mumbling anything approaching a proper noun towards him for the last ten minutes. She had almost settled on a mumble beginning with B, but D and T seemed to fit easily into the mould, so vagueness was always a good bet.  
Leaning on the back of the couch, Taylor and Geoff watched this progress, one smiling idly, the other rolling his eyes at intervals.

"She looks good tonight," Taylor ventured at last, looking up at Geoff between her lashes.  
"She always _looks_ good, Taylor. It's what's between her ears that's generally lacking."  
At this, she had to lightly smack him on the arm. A good friend can do no less.  
"Oh come on, even you have to admit she's beautiful. And clever, too!" Taylor had to add. "She's always getting high marks, and don't you dare imply anything about our lecturers!"  
At this, Geoff had to grin. "You misrepresent me, I'm sure! Fine, all right, she has the necessary brain cells. But she just doesn't put them to the right use. She's known how to be right for so long that she's forgotten how to be wrong. She could do with a good dose of uncertainty."  
Taylor merely shrugged, and returned her gaze to the object of their speculation, now alone with Harriet and seemingly in the midst of serious gossip.

"OK, OK, so... let me get this straight. You lived with... Elizabeth?"  
"Yep."  
"And her sister was... Anna?"  
"Yep."  
"And their mother was your landlord."  
"Yep."  
"... and her husband lived with you?"  
"Ye- no! No, no. Her son lived with us. Rob."  
This stopped Emma in her tracks. Now she had to completely re-do the mental calculations. Which sister was Rob?  
"And who was Rob?"  
"He was Elizabeth and Anne's brother. He was really nice, Emma."  
The voluntary nature of this piece of information produced a whole wave of social mathematics in Emma's brain, and a suspicion dawned that had previously been unthought of.  
"Did you- was Rob cute, Harriet?"  
At this, her friend blushed a deeper pink, and took a previously unnoticed interest in her shoes.  
"Well... no, not really. Not at first. But he was lovely, and I don't think he's _not _cute."  
This was an unexpected turn for Emma, and a not entirely pleasant one. At least, from the sound of things, it was a mere speedbump, and it was at that entirely opportune moment that Emma spotted a familiar face making his way towards her.

Elton, having arrived late but apparently without enough ceremony to declare such entrance fashionable, flashed a grin at his hostess, wrapping one arm around her waist in a greeting embrace. Emma, quick to avail herself of a fated opportunity, grinned at the late arrival, removing the hand at her waist and bestowed it upon Harriet.  
"Elton, meet my new flatmate, Harriet Smith."  
With what she trusted was a convincing start of surprise, Emma 'remembered' something she had to tell Taylor and Geoff, and made a quick exit from the lovebirds-to-be, leaving the pair to make their greetings.


	4. Chapter 4

**Apologies for how long it's been. My parents were in a car accident, so I've spent the last few months helping my Mum recover from a broken neck and various health complications as a result of the accident. I'll try to update more frequently now she's on the mend!**

**I'm trying to lengthen the chapters a bit, but I tend to think in short, sharp bursts of single scenes, so what I'll try to do if I can't cure myself of this habit is to write a couple of chapters in one go and upload them, so the length issue isn't **_**quite **_**as noticeable. Anyway, enough of my lamenting, on with the show.**

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Emma awoke unhappily. That is not to say that she awoke with any depression of feelings, any anxiety or sadness. No, Emma was most sincerely unhappy to be awake. Her head thumped, her stomach rejected the existence of everything most indelicately squelching inside it, and oddly, her left shin was stinging. Had she walked into anything last night? Her memory mercifully intact, Emma could at least reflect on her present sorry state with some pride. She had introduced Harriet to Elton, thus her good deed cancelled out the numerous drinks, on the karma scale. With the karmic ramifications of her night of debauchery thus mollified, Emma turned her attention to what had pulled her most unwillingly from a very pleasing dream about Clive Owen.

From the living room, Harriet's voice was filtering into Emma's hangover den. She had apparently been warned of the consequences of such things, as she was speaking in the half-hearted hush of one sure they were being quiet as a mouse to those they didn't want to hear them, but ensuring that those they did could hear them quite clearly. This is otherwise known as the "can you hear me now?" church voice. Over the thump of her headache, Emma caught the words "coffee," either "meet" or "meat," (for who can ever be sure?) and "class." A lesser woman may have ignored curiosity in favour of nursing their ill-used body. A more polite woman would certainly have tried not to hear any more. This particular woman stepped over the bucket someone had prudently placed beside her bed and tiptoed to the door, ascertained the usual spot from the days Taylor had still lived there, and pressed her ear to the wood.

A shiver of excitement ran through Emma as she considered the likely impact of those words. Had Elton fallen for Harriet already? She had not doubted her new friend's charms, but she hadn't even seen them exchanging numbers the night before. True, she and Geoff had spent a good hour debating the relative merits of paper or plastic (she had declared herself the victor when her adversary had called her crazy and stalked off for another beer), but she could not have been so distracted as to have missed anything so major. Besides, when they stopped arguing she had found Harriet at her shoulder. Wait, had Harriet been there long when Geoff had wandered off? Oh well, it signified but little, for here was the important invitation! Tuning back into the conversation she was innocently observing via an irritably thick door, Emma was just in time to hear "OK, I'll see you then, Rob." She screwed up her nose with distaste. This was not according to the plan at all and perhaps required a bit of an intervention.

"Harriet," she croaked in what she thought a breezy and unconcerned manner, "who was that?"  
Surprised to see her standing after the night before, Harriet started at the sound of Emma's voice, and coloured as she searched for an answer. Biting her lip, it was not without obvious confusion that she replied.  
"Oh, um. It was just, um, Rob. He asked me out!" the last came in a bit of a squeal, and Emma could not help blanching a bit with the pain of the high pitch. She looked upon that blonde head kindly, not without notes of pity, before putting an arm around Harriet's shoulders and guiding the girl to the couch.  
"I hope you weren't too brutal with him, Harriet. I know they act like they're untouchable, but boys are so much more fragile than you might think."  
In response to this, Harriet merely stared at her, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of pink.  
"You did say no, right?"  
"Well, that is to say, um… not in so many words?"  
From what she had heard from her room, Emma already knew this answer, but the way Harriet was imparting the news gave her cause for concern. Had Harriet let her feelings go this far with someone who still lived with his mother? Oh, this was just not at all right.

Bestowing a kind smile, or the closest she could summon at that time of the morning, on her protegee, Emma sighed lightly.  
"Harriet, do you like this boy? Like him better than any other men you've met?" as Harriet opened her mouth to answer, Emma silenced her by holding a finger in the air. "You told me last night you didn't find him attractive, didn't you?" Harriet's face scrunched with consternation, unsure she had said that but unwilling to contradict Emma. Emma was so clever, after all.  
"I find that in anyone we really like, we find features that make them attractive, no matter what others think of those things." Harriet nodded slowly. She did, after all, _know _what about Rob wasn't good looking, even if she'd thought that the way his eyes twinkled, or his left cheek had a dimple were lovely. If she really liked him, surely she'd not notice what about his face wasn't perfect?  
"It's a bit like when we know someone but _don't _like them we can find the faults that real attraction would gloss over. I mean, say, Geoff. I _know_ he's handsome, but I can still see the way his eyebrows aren't quite the same. Or Elton-" she paused here; unsure of whether pointing out a fault would be useful to the cause. "Uh- I just don't like Elton that way, even though I know he's kind of cute, don't you think?"  
Harriet nodded at this, then tempted Emma's ire by asking "are Geoff's eyebrows really different?"  
"Oh sure, the left one arches a bit higher than the right. But speaking of Elton, you guys seemed to hit it off last night, huh?"

Though Emma's frail grasp on un-caffeinated life could not much longer survive, she managed to last for 5 more Elton-filled sentences before the need for coffee was just too great. Before she exited, stage left, however, she gave Harriet a quick hug and a pat on the head.  
"Think about what I said. I mean, you wouldn't want to encourage Rob if it's just not going to work out, would you?" Harriet, left sat on a couch that suddenly felt huge around her, received these words with huge eyes and a furrowed brow.


	5. Chapter 5

**Told you, two chapters to give an update the length of one normal human's chapter.**

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There was little to be hoped for after a lecture detailing the complexities of the psyche of fallen soviet leaders than quick death, or at least a quick simulation of such mentally, care of an episode of the likes of Big Brother. Sadly, this dubious pleasure was denied Emma. As she made her way across the quad, a mere few minutes from her car and escape from her place of daily torment, otherwise known as university, she heard a familiar voice call out to her. Turning to meet her assailant, she spotted Elton Price meandering towards her, a lazy grin on his face. Although a touch annoyed that the infernal boy had not the goodness to look shame-faced for blocking her escape, the circumstance did provide Emma with a means of ascertaining how well Harriet's charms were working on her target, and perhaps barter a further meeting between the pair.  
"Elton, hi!" a touch of feigned enthusiasm, a charming smile, Harriet's future happiness was worth these, for they cost so little but could win so much.  
In return, Elton put a shoulder across Emma's shoulders once he reached her, increasing the wattage of his own grin. "Hi there," he echoed, and though Emma felt his greeting too comfortable by half, her smile did not falter. His manners may have been lacking, but she was sure Harriet's sweet shyness and modesty would do them some good.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry, Little Miss Woodhouse?" the question gave Emma an opportunity to perhaps stretch the truth a little, but as it was not technically wholly untrue, it could not be called a lie.  
"I'm meeting Harriet," well, they did live together, and she was headed home after all, "you remember her, right? Blonde, not quite my height, absolutely adorable to the point it really should be criminal?"  
Her efforts met with a spark of recognition on Elton's face and a smile at this description.  
"Sure, your new flatmate, right? I'm sure she'll be a treasure, given the education she'll be getting."  
Emma could not help but grin at this. She hadn't expected him to be quite so ebullient in his praise this early on! If he wanted to consider Harriet a treasure, however, she certainly had no plans to stop him.  
"The very one! I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed her much before she moved in, I mean, she's so pretty, don't you think?" It was not the most subtle manner, but the direct approach seemed fitting at times such as these.  
"A very pretty little girl, and if I'm not mistaken, you're making her beautiful- wasn't it your skirt she was wearing at the party?"  
Shrugging at the question in an attempt to disguise her excitement, Emma could barely contain the urge to laugh with glee. Oh, she did so love when her little projects worked the way she wanted them to!

An idea occurred, and in such a mind as Emma's, and idea once formed must be acted upon. Bestowing another of her most charming looks on Elton, she formed an invitation that she had no doubt would be acceptable to both parties, when they heard of it. She planned a dinner, cooked by her own fair hands, the night following. She delivered the invitation, naturally, with an assurance that Harriet would be happy to see him, before flouncing off to her car and leaving Elton grinning assuredly after her.

* * *

"Oh come on Geoffie, _please_?"  
With two hours until her projected dinner party, Emma had realised the awkwardness of being the third wheel at the table and gone hunting for further victims. Taylor and James's answering machine had been polite yet curt, Emma knew of no men she wished to invite as her date, and even Lucy Bates was not at home. She had had to resort to desperate measures.

Draping herself over the arm of the couch Geoff was sat on, Emma tried for a pouty, puppy-dog face. This was met with a raised eyebrow but little else.  
"Oh come on, Geoff! I need you! Where's the family spirit? The family affection? The family _guilt_?"  
He glared.  
"Tough, we're not family, I'm affectionately saying hell no, and why should I feel guilty?"  
Emma stepped the negotiations up a notch. As well as giving a barrage of every time she had felt ill-used at his hands, a detailed list of the times she had been forced to change their niece's nappies rather than him, and a threat of a fate so vile she could refer to it only as 'baby-sitting,' Emma relocated herself to prop her chin on his shoulder and pout up at him. It never failed to work on her father or sister. Judging by the narrowing of his eyes and the vein popping in his temple, it was working on Geoff, too.  
"I demand you pay for the actual food I'll have to buy to kill the taste of your cooking."  
Jumping up and ruffling his hair, Emma grinned down at him.  
"As if my cooking isn't-" with that incomplete thought, she let out a squeak, an expletive, and ran for the door. As the smell of smoke rose up the stairs to Geoff's apartment, he only chuckled, and began planning out the meal he would be eating later that night, care of Emma's bank balance.


End file.
